


softly

by necro



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necro/pseuds/necro
Summary: quiet, cautious, concerned, intrigued, subdued, smooth, gentle





	

**Author's Note:**

> it's still technically axl's birthday somewhere in the world, right?  
> rated for language and suggestive themes if that's a thing you're worried about.

Slash isn’t nervous, there’s no reason for him to be. He swiped the spare card key to the room Axl’s staying in and, with the previous room arrangement, along with the nature of their relationship, he was under the impression he was sleeping with Axl this time. A few hotels ago he roomed with Steven and while he loves the guy dearly, Slash just simply won’t put up with his snoring. Axl snores too – fuck, he’s sure they all do, but Steven snores like he drums: intensely, amazingly, and _loudly_.

 

It takes a few tries for Slash to get in the room – so much for subtlety. Curses tumble out of his lips and echo down the hallway with the clipped noises the card makes as he tries to swipe it quicker. It’s green for a second and Slash feels relieved as he tries to push the door open, only to find it locked again. He wants _in_ , dammit: he’s giving the card three more chances before he’s kicking the door off its hinges. The light turns green again and Slash wastes no time to shove his way inside the room.

 

As the door shuts behind him, Slash finds himself oddly enchanted with the interior design. The color scheme has whites and some kind of lightish blue-y greens, and the room itself is clean and eerily picture perfect. There’s a TV on top of the desk, two chairs against the wall, and a full sized bed pasted neatly in the center of the room. Overall it’s completely uninteresting, but Slash can appreciate any room with a bed in it.

 

His attraction to the room might be an extension of his attraction to Axl, who is currently lying in the middle of the bed. Most of the clothes he was wearing earlier are dismissed and on the floor, he’s only wearing a white shirt and his underwear. He has an arm under the pillow with the other crooked at the elbow. His body is so still Slash almost thinks he’s asleep. He isn’t entirely convinced but he takes another second to glance around, giving Axl some time to acknowledge him if he wants to. His roaming eyes eventually trail back to Axl and Slash notices that he looks tense, like he’s conflicted between jumping out of his skin or staying motionless on the bed.

 

“Hey Ax,” Slash tries, tossing the card key on the desk. He scratches at his elbow and finds the sound too loud in his ears.

 

Axl’s shoulder twitches, a single frame of movement. Slash guesses that’s the only response he’ll get for now.

 

“You uh…” He’s a little confused, Axl looked fine when he talked to the receptionist less than half an hour ago. “You good?”

 

If Slash tries really hard, he can see Axl’s body breathing and Slash finds himself reassured.

 

He takes a seat in one of the chairs and lights a smoke out of habit. He isn’t nervous. The nicotine is a welcome distraction.

 

Axl shifts stiffly on the bed at the sound of the lighter, his head turning to reveal his voice. “Not allowed to smoke in here.”

 

Slash pauses to let Axl’s voice process in his mind. He sounds like he just woke up, or like he hasn’t talked a lot today. Slash considers this as he leans back on the chair to open the window behind him. He carefully blows smoke out of it, his body in an uncomfortable twist. He turns back to Axl and rests his full weight on the chair. The _thump_ the chair makes when its legs hit the floor is louder than whatever Axl says, so Slash gets up to stand over him. Slash briskly searches for an ashtray before he gets to the edge of the bed. Finding none, he snatches a mug and places it on the end table.

 

“Did you say something?” Slash asks. He takes out the cigarette and turns to blow in the direction of the window.

 

“Smoke detectors,” Axl croaks quietly.

 

Slash nods, knowing Axl can’t see it, and sits on the bed, holding himself upright with an arm while another taps the cigarette ash in the cup. The bed feels extremely firm beneath him, the layers of blankets and sheets make it look bigger than it actually is. Slash can only guess that the pillows are too soft, which means most, if not all of the guys are gonna complain about sore necks tomorrow.

 

Slash blows more smoke out, his skin itchy in the unusual silence.

 

“Is something wrong?” He asks.

 

He doesn’t expect Axl to answer right away. “Sore.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Everywhere.”

 

Slash turns and looks him over. He looks fine, no bruises on his arms or legs. He runs his eyes over Axl’s body again, just in case. Slash gets up and positions himself, a knee on either side of Axl’s legs, and gently pushes his shirt up to get a closer look. Axl makes a noise, an acknowledgement, and Slash figures that means ‘go ahead’.

 

He has the shirt bunched near Axl’s shoulders, white shirt on white skin on blue-green-white blanket. Slash looks appreciatively at the expanse of skin. His eyes follow the shiver that ripples through Axl, and it takes a second for Slash to remember he left the window open.

 

“You sick or somethin’?” Slash asks, wincing in regret as he reaches for the dying cigarette in his mouth. Axl makes another noise, dismissive, and Slash wonders if he should get up to close the window anyway. Getting up, however, would mean removing himself from this position, so he doesn’t.

 

“Just hurts.” Axl elaborates somewhat pitifully.

 

Slash starts to rub small circles with the side of his thumbs near Axl’s shoulder blades. He doesn’t object, or physically react at all, so Slash keeps going.

 

Slash isn’t sure what he should do, apply pressure? Rub soothingly? How much pressure should he use? How hard would be too hard? Letting his fingertips skate on Axl’s skin feels too intense, too intimate for Slash’s comfort zone right now. Slash makes the careful decision to push softly on Axl’s back, palms making wider, slower circles. Axl sighs and visibly relaxes – a clear sign to continue.

 

Slash takes that as incentive and begins to massage Axl’s skin with earnest. He could sit here all day and just touch Axl, be next to him, be with him in this quiet space they’ve resided in. The wind occasionally makes itself known by blowing the noise from the streets below, the exhaust from vehicles and other miscellaneous scents from below make their way into the room. The wind causes the curtains Slash pushed aside to rustle against the wall, the heavy material creating more background noise that neither men pay attention to.

 

Axl settles more comfortably into the bed as Slash’s hands move to the middle of his back, circles becoming tighter as he applies more pressure. Axl’s shoulders shudder as a deep sigh escapes him.

 

“Better?” Slash asks, rubs Axl’s lower back slowly.

 

Another noncommittal noise from the man below. There’s no comment on how Slash’s hands begin skirting along Axl’s sides, briefly abandoning their original intent.

 

“Y’know,” Slash says as he leans forward like he meant to press the palms of his hands deeper into Axl’s skin, purposefully-maybe-accidentally grinds his hips into Axl’s. “I think you just like bein’ pampered like this.”

 

Axl snorts against the pillows and stretches his arms lightly, back curving, away from Slash’s hands. When he relaxes, his shoulders are somewhat hunched. Slash checks quickly and is pleased to find a small smile on Axl’s face.

 

“Do you feel better?” Slash asks again. His hands slow as he massages Axl’s sides, eliciting another sigh from him.

 

Axl hums. He burrows his head down, into the fluffy pillow, and sighs again. Warm, calloused hands creep up his sides leisurely. It’s an unexpected reaction; Axl’s body jerks away suddenly and he snorts loudly, throat clicking on a gasp. Slash pauses, confused, then bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too much.

 

“Aww,” Slash coos mockingly. “Somebody ticklish?”

 

The smile in Axl’s voice is evident. “I’ll kick your ass, man, don’t you dare.”

 

Slash chuckles, palms wandering adventurously on soft skin, and stores that information away for later. He rubs two, three, four circles into Axl’s skin before pushing up and spreads his fingers to reach further.

 

“Think I got some leverage on you now.” Slash teases. He digs the tips of his fingers in a little and strokes down his back.

 

“You wish.” Axl retorts easily.

 

Slash plays with the waistband of his boxers. Axl stops.

 

“Hey.”

 

Slash’s hands coast along Axl’s spine, then drop down to the small of his back, unaware. “Hm?”

 

“I don’t wanna fuck.”

 

His hands still on Axl’s hips. It feels like the air around and inside of him is sucked out and Slash becomes hyperaware of every part of him that is touching Axl, feels a familiar itch return and alight his nerves.

 

“Oh.” He says. “Oh, okay.”

 

Axl turns his head, brows furrowed. “What?”

 

“We can just, y’know,” Slash says. His hands are still on Axl’s hips. “Not.”

 

Axl blinks at him, incredulous.

 

Slash finally retreats his hands, one to the forgotten cigarette whose light died out, the other falling limp at his side. His mouth opens and closes, aborted phrases caught on his tongue.

 

The silence stretches on as Axl examines his face. Under his scrutiny, Slash feels cornered and somewhat panicked. Axl’s eyes bore into him, and while Slash is on top of him and he is much more naked than Slash, he feels exposed. His fingers involuntarily twitch to squeeze the cigarette.

 

“So…you’re staying?” Axl says slowly like he’s trying to work it out himself.

 

Slash’s reply is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I could?”

 

“Yeah –”

 

“I mean, I could go too, if –”

 

“Why would I want you to go?”

 

“– you want me - I - what?”

 

Slash had swung his leg over him, dismounting Axl, and was about to make up an excuse to leave the room. He tentatively looks back to the bed and feels no relief as he’s unable to translate the look Axl’s giving him. His eyebrows are still furrowed and his mouth is carved into a mixture of a frown and a sneer. Axl inspects Slash’s face.

 

He must find something, as he sighs tiredly. “If you wanna leave, go ahead.” He turns to lie on his side, the full movement startling Slash as he watches, dazed.

 

“I just thought that we, like. I dunno. Whatever.”

 

Slash stands there, unsure of what to do. He searches Axl’s back for help and is unsurprised when he receives no answers. He hesitates, worried he pissed off Axl more than usual, before toeing off his shoes and kicking them to the corner of the room. He tosses the cigarette haphazardly in the direction of what he thinks is a garbage can as he walks to the window. Slash scans over the tiny dots moving below as he shuts the window. The intrusive silence that follows is explosive in Slash’s ears.

 

He feels like a dog with its tail between its legs as he approaches the bed again. Slash almost fakes himself out, almost reaches for his shoes to run and hide away. He clears his throat and climbs back onto the bed, this time he lies himself down on his side.

 

Axl’s shoulder twitches like he was about to look behind him.

 

“Turn around.” He says instead.

 

Slash does, and fleetingly wonders if he should have taken off some of his clothes, worries if that would have made it more awkward between them. He hears Axl shift on the bed, then feels an arm wrap itself around him. A forehead against his back, legs clumsily tangling with his own. Slash allows himself relief and relaxation as he settles against Axl.

 

There’s no stagnant air that remains, the heater in the room kicks on and fills the increasingly comfortable atmosphere with a warm cloud. Slash closes his eyes and seeks Axl’s hand to intertwine their fingers. His jeans sit uncomfortably stiff on him, Slash wonders if it bothers Axl, too.

 

Axl shifts again, forehead rising to rest near Slash’s head, their bodies flushed together.

 

“If you tell anyone to tickle me, I’ll let _everyone_ know you’re the little spoon.”

 

Slash can’t help but feel he set himself up for that. He turns to face Axl and smiles, anyway. The pressure that gathered in his chest ebbs away when Axl meets him with a smile of his own.

 

“I guess we’re even, now.”


End file.
